


The Bastards of Calenhad

by mordant_aboulomanic



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordant_aboulomanic/pseuds/mordant_aboulomanic
Summary: After her family is betrayed, Elissa Cousland is escorted to Ostagar by Warden-Commander Duncan. He intends to have her forsake vengeance and find a new family in the ranks of the Grey Wardens; she intends to find her brother and petition the King to repudiate the Howe’s. Both succeed, but not in the way either of them thought.Or: Cousland raises armies while hiding a royal pregnancy.





	1. Chapter 1

“Duncan… I beg you… take my wife and daughter to safety!”

Elissa choked back a sob and tightened her grip on her father’s hand. She could not leave him, she would not, not while his heart still beat and he had the words to fight her.

“I will, your Lordship,” the Warden-Commander answered, “But… I fear I must ask for something in return.”

“Anything!”

“What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. That darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one.”

No, no he would not dare.

“I… I understand.”

“What?” She cried, “No! I won’t agree to any such thing!”

“Then what else?” Father asked, “How will you survive?”

The Warden-Commander answered her father, grim and certain, as though her refusal was inconsequential to him.

“I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens.”

“So long as justice comes to Howe… I agree.”

Finally the Warden-Commander deigned to acknowledge her, “then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us.”

A demand, not a question. He sought her father’s consent not her own, as though she were a piece of livestock to be traded and not a person in her own right. She would not. Not so long as Arl Howe still took breath. He would pay for his crimes, on her honour as a Cousland.

“My duty is to take vengeance on Arl Howe!”

The man was unmoved.

“We will inform the king, and he will punish Howe. I am sorry,” the lie fell from his lips easily, “but a Grey Warden’s duties take precedence even over vengeance.”

“Howe thinks he’ll use the chaos to… advance himself,” Father added. “Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done! Our family… always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and for Fereldan’s.”

“No, I won’t do it!”

The Warden-Commander sighed, and Elissa brought her father’s hand to her cheek desperate to hold him.

“Then I have no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription and recruit you into the Grey Wardens despite your objection.”

“I’m sorry, pup,” Father said, stroking his thumb across her cheek, “but… it’s better this way.”

“We must leave quickly, then.”

She felt her stomach drop and the blood leave her face. She was cold, numb.

“Bryce,” Mother said, reaching out to hold Elissa’s other hand. “Are you… sure?”

Say no, father. Say no and crawl through the tunnel.

“Our daughter will not die of Howe’s treachery. She will live, and make her mark on the world.”

“Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance of escape without me.”

No. No, she couldn’t. Her vision swam and she could barely hear her parents’ conversation over the thudding in her ears. Father’s voice was shaking and his colour worsening, Mother’s expression grim.

Elissa closed her eyes and breathed, squeezing her parents’ hands and trying to bring to mind an image of their faces smiling and whole. If this was to be the end, she would not remember them bleeding and in pain. The sound of fighting outside the door brought her back to herself, and Elissa felt Father’s grip on her hand failing.

“Go, pup,” he said, coughing and alarmingly pale. “Warn your brother. And know that we love you both. You do us proud.”

The Warden-Commander grabbed her arm and jerked her roughly to her feet, steadying her as she slipped on the blood. Her father’s blood.

“They’ve broken through the gate. We must go now.”

And she did. Maker forgive her, but she didn’t fight back when the man dragged her away. The last thing she saw was her mother raising Father’s shield and a scavenged short sword to defend their retreat.


	2. Chapter 2

“We need to travel south through the Hinterlands to the ruins of Ostagar, on the edges of the Kocarri Wilds,” Duncan said as they made their way quickly through the castle.

The journey to Ostagar from Highever was two weeks along the Imperial Highway, but Elissa decided they would travel the direct route and cut through the Bannorn – the sooner they arrived, the sooner she could petition King Cailan to capture the Howe’s and have them hanged as the traitors they were. Duncan tried to argue that it would be safer along the highway, and that a short stop in Denerim would allow them to gather much-needed supplies, but this was Elissa’s land and she had faith in the generosity of her people. It would also, she pointed out, mean avoiding Amaranthine. She had no desire to see Howe soldiers patrolling the nearby towns.

They came out of the castle by the west wall and made towards the assemblage of horses tied up at the secondary stables. Elethea found them minutes after they arrived with an arrow in his hind leg and the hilt of the family sword gripped firmly between his bloodied teeth. He’d disappeared from her side as soon as she and Mother had found Father, and she near wept to see that he’d gone for Father’s sword.

“I have always admired the loyalty of mabari,” Duncan commented, falling to his knees and ripping off his gloves, “I’ve never had the honour of owning one myself, but I have fought beside people who have. Always I am astounded by their intelligence and courage.”

“You don’t _own _a mabari,” she hissed through her tears.

“Just so,” Duncan agreed, and turned to Elethea. “This will hurt, and we must be quiet. I will break the shaft so that you can run without further aggravating the wound, but I will not be able to remove the point until we are somewhere safer and have something to prevent infection from setting in. Be brave for your mistress, and bite down on these.”

Elethea gently released the sword and bit down on the leather gloves Duncan held out to him. He whined as Duncan gripped the arrow, and Elissa stroked his bloody fur with whispered prayers. The shaft was snapped as close to the flesh as possible and she winced at Elethea’s yelp, muffled somewhat by the leather he was biting holes into.

“There,” Duncan said, rising to his feet. “We should stampede as many of the horses as we can to limit their ability to follow us, but these are warhorses and do not spook easily.”

Elissa drew the Cousland sword from its scabbard, scuffed from being dragged out of the castle, and swung hard to cut through as many of the ropes leashing Howe’s horses as possible in a single swing.

“Elethea,” she ordered, “get them to flee in as many directions as possible to cover our escape. The majority of Howe’s soldiers will be stationed on the Imperial Highway so try to avoid sending the horses south and alerting them; we need to buy as much time as possible. We will head west into the forests to the hunting cabin we built for Oren last summer, meet us there.”

Elethea lunged at the newly freed horses, nipping their bellies and narrowly avoiding their hooves. Duncan untied the two nearest him and mounted one, holding the other by the reins as he rode down the line cutting through ropes with his own sword. Once the sound of panicked whinnies began to echo off the walls Elissa sheathed the sword and threw it to Duncan who swung it onto his back with the ease of a man who’d done so a thousand times. Like her mother, she’d never been able to swing more than a short-sword, but she was lethal with a bow. 

“This cabin—” Duncan began.

“Is for family use only, and new enough that even if they know of it our guards would likely not even think of it when questioned. Howe doesn’t know it exists and by waiting out the night there we’re less likely to run straight into soldiers he has on patrol looking for survivors. The forest is dense there, and we’ll be able to travel by day along the game paths without being spotted from the road – we can cross the Imperial Highway tomorrow night.”

She mounted the second horse and swung to sit facing backwards as she kicked it into movement; drawing her bow she nocked arrow after arrow and, with a pang of guilt, loosed them at the horses they had not been able to free in time. Riding backwards and loosing arrows from horseback were both difficult manoeuvres and combining them together was near impossible, but if Howe’s men were able to pursue then her parents’ sacrifice would be meaningless. The fewer horses at the west stables, the more soldiers who would have to run to the main stables before making chase.

She would make it to the king, or she would die trying.

\---

Oren’s hunting cabin was well-stocked with arrows of varying kinds – dulled practice arrows, arrows for distance shooting, arrows with barbs, bolts for crossbows. Elissa pulled the spare armguards from the chest by the door and quickly inspected her bow for damage in the candlelight; she loved this bow, but she would leave it if need be. Duncan enquired about water and she directed him to the small stream over the hill where the animals came to drink; he took two empty pitchers and left the cabin on silent feet to fill them.

They kept no food here, not at this time of year when the hunting was scarce, so she didn’t even bother to look. Instead she found an empty pack and filled it with as many arrows, lures, and trap components as she could find. A second pack she filled with candles, flint, skinning knives, and anything else they might need to survive the trek through the Bannorn. There was but a single pair of boots in the cabin, far too big for her, and she rubbed her fingers along the soles of her winter boots. She’d been meaning to get them resoled for a month now, but they were her favourite pair and she hadn’t wanted to be without them while the sky still threatened snow and all the fires in the world could not stop the castle floors from freezing.

These boots were not intended for prolonged outdoor wear, meant instead for walking around the castle. She didn’t even wear them out to the stables or the practice yard. They would be a problem. In the dim candlelight she surveyed the rest of the clothing she’d thrown on in her haste: for underclothes she had a sleepshirt and smalls, but no gambeson to pad out her armour or prevent them from chafing, and not even a breastband to protect her chest; her breeches and light chainmail tunic were of fine enough quality, her prize for winning the last archery tourney, but she hadn’t had time to don the helm, greaves, vambraces, gloves, gorget, or pauldrons that came with it. Maker, she didn’t even have socks in her boots.

No matter. There were more important things to worry about than blistered feet. Leaving the solitary candle on the table, Elissa sat herself down in the corner and tried to find the words she would use to tell Fergus what happened.

\---

Late afternoon on the third day they reached one of the sprawling farms that provided food to Highever. Situated south of the Highway on the border of the Coastlands and the Bannorn, the farm was rarely visited by any but the Highever guards who routinely patrolled the outskirts to keep bandits away. She had never met the people there, but it took little more than a few minutes to convince the farmers of her name and they gladly furnished her and Duncan with all that could be spared.

“I do apologise, my lady,” said a dirt-streaked, but lovely, woman who was rapidly sorting through the kitchen for travel-ready food. “We sent most of our stores to your father last week to provide for the soldiers, almost all of our non-perishable food is gone and short of weighing you down with bushels of apples there is little to provide.”

Elissa grasped the good woman’s shaking hand and squeezed it gently.

“I thank you for all you have done for my family, and I swear I will not forget your generosity. When I return to Castle Cousland having taken vengeance from the Howe’s I will have you and your husband seated at my own table, as thanks for service. Whatever boon you ask of me, I will grant it when I return.”

The woman wiped a solitary tear from her face and kissed Elissa’s hand.

“My boy was a soldier for your father – you wouldn’t have heard of him,” she hurried, “he was a quiet boy and always kept his head down, but he was honoured to have a place in your army. If Arl Howe slaughtered him… make that man suffer, let him know what it means to face Highever justice.”

One of the famer’s lads found her a sturdy pair of work boots, designed for prolonged use rather than comfort, and Elissa regretfully traded away her own. Thankfully the boy was kind enough to bring her some thick socks to wear when he saw she had none, so at least she wouldn’t be tearing the skin off her feet with ever step.

Duncan was tying bedrolls and packs to unfamiliar horses when she emerged from the kitchens.

“Fresh horses,” he said, “and ones Howe’s men will not recognise. The lads who tend animals have sprayed those we stole with chickens’ blood and sliced at the saddles, they’re going to set them loose in sight of the Imperial Highway – if any of Howe’s men find them, they will think we perished.”

“Why three? We need only two,” she pointed out.

“We’ll keep everything we can’t live without on our horse, or on ourselves when we are not riding. Luxuries, or things we can more easily replace, go on the third. Lighter loads mean faster horses, and we can trade off riding the third horse to allow one of the others to rest while still moving.”

She nodded and stroked the nose of the most heavily laden horse. For all that she hated him, Duncan was accustomed to hard travel and it was likely his knowledge would save her life again before she reached the king. Elethea huffed from where he sat beside her and she reached down to stroke his nose too. Ideally they would wait for Elethea to be better healed from the arrow wound before asking him to take up on a cross-country journey, but they could not afford the time.

“Can you run?” she asked him quietly.

His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he smiled at her.

“It’s going to be a long journey, and we won’t have a moment to pause.”

Elethea whined and nosed as her hand again, demanding more pats.

“Fine,” she sighed, “but don’t come crying to me when your leg hurts from running all day.”

Duncan cleared his throat. She saw he had tied all the packs to the saddles and was staring at her expectantly.

“If we leave now,” he said, “we’ll make it five miles or so before nightfall – that will put us at the foot of the valley when we need to make camp.”

Elissa stroked Elethea’s fur and nodded.

“Then we leave now,” she said, “for Ostagar.”

“For Ostagar,” Duncan agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

The fifth morning since they set out saw Elissa wake to a cramping belly and blood in her smallclothes. She had little in the way of supplies, no teas as she had at home and the spare clothes she had in her pack – which if pressed she could turn into absorbent pads – were stained with sweat and dirt. She would have to boil them. Tearing her spare undershirt into strips was made easier with the help of her dagger and with any luck she would be able to find a new shirt soon. She’d never made the ride through the Bannorn before, but by her reckoning they were a day, perhaps two, from Turrey.

Opening her tent, she blushed to see Duncan already awake and heating up the previous night’s rabbit stew on the campfire. Elethea was chewing on what appeared to be a freshly caught nug, probably from one of the traps Elissa had set the night before.

“Ah, you are awake. Did you sleep well?”

She bundled the fabric strips into a tight ball in her hands and paused for a moment. While she had no desire for the Warden Commander to learn of her condition, she recognised that there would be no hiding it from him as they travelled so closely for the next week or so. Still, there was no reason to abandon decorum just because she was camping in the woods.

“I did, thank you,” she answered, crawling out and closing the flap of her tent behind her. “And yourself? You were not too cold?”

There was only a single tent, a small thing used by one of the shepherds when he slept with the flock on rainy nights. Duncan had been sleeping under the stars with only a blanket to protect him from the weather. In truth she probably could have made room for him in the tent, but they would have been pressed close and touching and she couldn’t allow that. Bad enough to be travelling unescorted with a man she hardly knew, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon a lifetime of careful adherence to propriety, not when it was all she had left. Thus far he hadn’t pressed the issue, but the further south they got the colder the weather would turn and the more he would no doubt be desiring shelter.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” he said with a shrewd look, “the life of a Grey Warden is often uncomfortable… you should prepare yourself for that.”

She sniffed and ignored the rebuke, tucking the cloths into a pocket and stretching her muscles. Her thighs were sore from spending so long riding each day and her back hurt after sleeping on the ground. By the time they finally reached Ostagar she would be more ache than person.

Still, better to be pained than dead. Howe would hurt before he died, Elissa knew. She’d plead her case to the king and see that he ordered a painful death for the traitor. A lash for every life taken. She’d deliver them herself, if she was able.

“The food is ready,” Duncan called, “if you would like some?”

She nodded and collected the small wooden bowl the farmers had given her and handed it to him to fill. There was only a small amount, but she was an accomplished hunter and would be able to catch them something to create their next meal from. She put her bowl on the ground when he handed it to her and instead took the pot. Elethea whined in confusion.

“I’ll wash this,” she said, “keep the fire going.”

He furrowed his brow but didn’t reply.

\--

The next week passed in much the same manner. Talking only when necessary and having as little contact with Duncan as she could possibly manage. He saw her practising stances with the Cousland sword once and offered to teach her, but instead she’d spat back something vicious and refused to speak to him for the rest of the day.

Elethea was her only comfort. She cried herself to sleep each night and muffled her sobs in his fur. Elissa knew that she was spiralling. She alternated between a cool and emotionless attitude and being on the knifes-edge of crying or screaming. Duncan had been far kinder than she deserved, not commenting or pressing her on her issues. Somehow, that made her hate him more.

\--

“Tell me more about Ostagar,” she said.

If Duncan was surprised that she was finally asking questions he didn’t show it.

“The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the wildlings from invading the Northern Lowlands—” she cut him off before he could finish

“Yes, thank you Warden, but I know my histories. Tell me more about Ostagar _and the darkspawn horde we are riding into._”

“Very well,” he said mildly, as unflappable as ever. “The king’s forces have clashed with the daskspawn several times but Ostagar is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Fereldan at the moment but all of us are there, save for myself and one other scouting for recruits. This Blight must be stopped, and soon. If it spreads to the north, Fereldan will fall. It is fitting that we make our stand at Ostagar given its long history, even if we face a different foe within that forest.”

“Were the king’s skirmishes successful?”

“They have been, and the king is confident that the battle at Ostagar will be similarly easy and successful. Perhaps too confident.”

“You have doubts?”

“Blights are… unpredictable. It has been 400 years since the last one, many people even believed that perhaps they were over and the Maker had forgiven us our trespasses. But now a new Blight is upon us, and with it an Archdemon. We can kill thousands of darkspawn, but if we do not kill the Archdemon then the Blight will continue. Success at Ostagar relies on the Archdemon showing itself to us.”

“Will it?”

“I do not know.”

\---

The worst part of travelling with Duncan was that Elethea liked him. Elethea liked everyone, so this wasn’t much of a surprise, but it physically pained her at times to see Duncan scratch Elethea’s ears or hear him speak quietly to the mabari about the constellations when she hiding in her tent.

Duncan was not an evil man. In some ways he might even be a good man. He’d manipulated her dying father into accepting her into the Wardens, disregarded her own opinion… but that was what Wardens did. The Blight needed to be stopped by any means necessary, and Grey Wardens were the only one who could do that. He was protecting all of Thedas by recruiting more Wardens, he was protecting her now by delivering her from certain death to the one man who could bring the Howe’s to justice… yet she hated him.

Maker, her parents would be ashamed.

\---

“Why come to Highever? Why take but a single recruit? There must be a hundred men and women between here and Ostagar – between wherever you came from and Highever – able to fight and willing to join, so why me?”

“I cannot reveal much about the Grey Warden joining but suffice to say that it is not something that can be undertaken by a large number of people. There are certain qualities that we look for in recruits, we take the best of those the world has to offer. You are one such person.”

She laughed.

“Nugshit. You take criminals as well as trained soldiers, I’ve heard enough of the stories to know that much at least.”

“It is true we take criminals. When you become a Grey Warden your past is forgotten, forgiven if necessary, and who you were before matters nought to any of your new brothers and sisters. We look for qualities in individuals, not in groups. A pickpocket or a rapist can be taught to bare a blade, but it is much harder for a soldier to change his personality. You have the qualities of a Grey Warden, and so you will join us.”

“And Ser Gilmore? You came to Highever for him, not me.”

“Truthfully, you were always my first choice. I came to Highever for you, but when I arrived I spoke with many people who all agreed that even if your father was willing to risk the Cousland name die by letting both you and your brother go to war, you would never agree to it. Despite your military prowess, they told me, you were a courtly woman who put family above all else. And so I made further inquiries, and Ser Gilmore’s name was spoken the loudest. But now he is gone, and you are here.”

“Here and in a greater position than ever before to attend to my family! My parents are dead, my sister-in-law and nephew are dead – and perhaps my brother too! If he is dead then I am the last of our line and it is my responsibility to rebuild. I cannot, I will not, forsake my family. The Maker knows I cannot forsake them!”

Duncan stopped and shook his head sadly.

“No, my Lady. I came for you a time of great need and was rebuffed by words and by swords. When I had almost given up on finding someone to aid Fereldan against the Blight, you fought your way to me through Howe’s men. I think the Maker’s intention is clear.”


	4. Chapter 4

“We’ll be arriving at Ostagar before midday tomorrow,” Duncan called over the sound of the brook he was washing the horses down in. Between the cloying mud and the stinging insects the horses had been suffering greatly during the last leg of the journey and they were possibly more pleased than Elissa herself to be able to bathe.

She would take her bath, such as it was in the shallows, once Duncan was finished and she had some privacy. He had been tired but accepting of her strict adherence to propriety, such as it was camping in the woods with a stranger, and refrained from commenting thus far. It was likely she would be able to find _someone _amongst the nobility at Ostagar willing to aid her who had brought a tub with them, but she did not want to risk meeting with King Cailan before having the opportunity to source one.

“Likely we’ve already been noticed by scouts so our arrival will be expected by the king, but in any case, I was due to arrive within five days of now so we won’t be catching anyone by surprise.”

“I’d like to have an audience with King Cailan as soon as possible,” Elissa called back, “the sooner he hears my report, the sooner he can put a guard out for Arl Howe.”

“I wanted to speak to you about that,” he said, and looked over her shoulder she saw that he had left the water and was tying the horses to one of the ragged trees that littered the landscape.

She laid his blanket out for him, no reason not to be courteous, and he nodded in thanks as he dried his feet on it and finally sat down.

“Thus far I have seen no evidence that Arl Howe is answering the king’s call to arms, but that does not mean that he will not do so. He knows that I was there that night, and I have no doubt that he would have looked for me amongst the dead – having found no sign of me it may be that he has retreated back to Amaranthine so as not to march into a trap at Ostagar once I reported his treachery to the king. It may instead be that he has only delayed his arrival for the purpose of manufacturing evidence of your family’s betrayal.”

“The Couslands would never betray the king!”

It burst out of her and she shut her mouth with an audible _clack _of her teeth. He was not accusing them. Only hypothesising what Howe might do. There was no reason to yell at him.

Duncan gave her a look that she well recognised by now, extreme patience wearing very thin. And pity. Always the air of pity. She almost apologised, but he continued before she could get the words out.

“I may be the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan, and a personal friend of the king, but the Wardens owe no allegiance to anyone save each other. Arl Howe may hope to capitalise on this, and the lingering distrust of Grey Wardens in Fereldan, to discount my testimony should he be put to trial. It is well-known that Wardens are charged with stopping the Blight by _any _means necessary – we do not play with politics but if I thought it would aid in stopping the Blight, he could argue, then myself and any other Warden would not hesitate to give false witness.”

“You’d lie, even before the Maker?”

“If it would ensure the Archdemon died, then yes. There is nothing that I, nor any other Grey Warden, would not do to achieve this.”

Just the thought of foreswearing herself in the eyes of the Maker made Elissa feel dirty. Blights were the Maker’s punishment, how could angering the Maker even more ever be the key to earning his forgiveness? Or perhaps that was the point. It was known that the only way to kill an Archdemon and end a Blight was for a Grey Warden to sacrifice their life – perhaps they had to sacrifice their soul too? Those who had killed the Archdemons – the unknown Wardens of the First and Thirds Blights, Warden Corin of the Second, and Warden Garahel of the Fourth – were worshipped and honoured as heroes… but what if they had no reward in death? Only eternal suffering as payment for saving Thedas?

No, best not to think of it.

“It won’t come to that,” he said gently, and she realised he had mistaken her ill look for dread that he would betray her.

“Of course,” she replied quickly, “Archdemons are killed by blades, not broken oaths. But do you think it likely that he will make such claims?”

Duncan sighed and cracked his neck.

“I know little of the machinations of nobility, and littler still of Arl Howe in particular, but I do know people. He timed his attack to fall precisely when your family would be most vulnerable, when most of your officers, soldiers, and even many of your servants were away. This was no mistake, and he would not have undertaken such a thing if he didn’t think that he and his family would survive it. Most likely he will have a story prepared of discovering some awful truth about your family, and his soldiers arriving just in time to stop your father from striking him down. Perhaps he intended to claim that he had been held prisoner by your father, and that his men breached the walls in a daring rescue. Whatever it will be, he will try to claim himself as either a victim of some crime or as a visitor who bore witness to treachery and was duty-bound to stamp it out.”

It must be some treachery, she thought hysterically, that Howe thought he could excuse the slaughter of Oriana and Oren with it.

“Go wash up,” Duncan offered, “I’ll get started on our meal.”

\---

“Ho there, Duncan,” a cheerful voice hailed them as they crossed the bridge into Ostagar.

Elissa looked up to see a man in golden armour grinning at them, flanked by stern guards. Elethea’s tail began thumping in excitement. The king.

“King Cailan, I didn’t expect a—”

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!”

The two men grasped arms with a familiar ease and Duncan didn’t even seem to think about ducking out of the king’s space when they let go. He clearly hadn’t been overstating it when he called himself a _personal friend _of the king, if the guards’ complete non-reaction to an armed soldier – who bore no allegiance to the king – standing so close was anything to go by.

Elissa fought the urge to smooth back her hair and instead took a calming breath, shooting a severe glance at Elethea. He was too well-trained to whine and pout in the presence of strangers, thank the Maker, and sat back on his haunches with his tail still and ears alert. Together they stood at attention, waiting to be introduced.

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.”

Duncan sounded grave, but the king did not seem to notice.

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan as my side in battle after all,” he enthused. “Glorious! They other Wardens told me you’ve found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?”

Elissa lowered her eyes, demure and proper as the subject of the king’s gaze. Duncan offered an introduction, but the king waved it away.

“You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not?” he said, with an easy smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”

Beyond a handful of minutes at her presentation to the court, they had not. Elissa remembered the encounter vividly, but the king had probably seen half a hundred young girls welcomed into society.

“I am, your Majesty, and I bring important news.”

In the corner of her eye, Duncan was frowning.

“Is it about your father? Your brother has been concerned about him.”

Fergus had arrived safely? Thank the Maker.

“My father isn’t coming. He died,” her voice did not stutter, not once, “when our castle was taken.”

“Dead?”

She nodded, exhaling shakily.

“Duncan, do you know anything about this?”

Duncan explained, quietly and objectively, and Elissa was gratified to see the king was grieved by the news. A small part of her, very deep down, had feared that the king might dismiss the massacre as unimportant in the face of the Blight.

She wiped away the tears that threatened to spill while his back was turned, knowing that she would be mortified if he caught her crying.

“How could he think he would get away with such treachery?”

King Cailan turned back to face them and approached Elissa with determination.

“As soon as we are done here,” he said, “I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.”

“What kind of justice?” she asked, then bit her tongue.

What kind of question was that? Maker, he’d think her a savage more focused on spilling blood than honouring her family. Elethea inched, minutely, towards her until his shoulder was pressed heavily against her leg.

“He will hang,” King Cailan said, and she barely heard the rest of his words over the sound of blood pumping through her veins.

Howe would hang.

“No doubt you wish to see your brother,” he said, and her attention snapped back in an instant. “Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the wilds. He may not return until the battle is over, I fear.”

“Why not? Your Majesty,” she added quickly, damning herself for forgetting her manners.

The king did not even seem to notice her error.

“A detachment of darkspawn has been attacking Chasind encampments west of here, they seem to be organised but thus far we have not been able to discover what their intentions are. Our main worry is that the darkspawn are clearing out the western Wilds so as to attack Ostagar from two sides; the other worry is that instead of killing the Chasind they may be attempting to infect them – we have been welcoming Chasind into our camp, as the Blight gives us a common enemy, but if they carry the sickness…”

Elissa had never seen a ghoul, but she’d heard of them. Far more terrifying than darkspawn, a ghoul was a person who had been corrupted. Rotting from the inside out, until even the soul was black and tainted. Letting that corruption into a war camp filled with soldiers from every land in Fereldan… even if they killed the Archdemon here the Blight sickness would continue to ravage the country until every last one of them were dead or tainted.

Elethea whined and the king’s eyes softened, giving him a fond smile.

“So, Fergus has gone to…”

“To lead the men and women from Highever into their own, smaller battle against the darkspawn. Highever was most recent to arrive so they were selected – easier to send a group who were still packed, than ask another contingent to dismantle everything they’ve built here.”

“Of course,” she said, “I understand.”

King Cailan sighed.

“I apologise, my lady, but there is nothing more I can do. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkpawn for the time being. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I must report to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his greetings,” Duncan said, “and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

The king rolled his eyes and laughed. Elissa had the strangest urge to laugh with him, even through her grief and boiling anger.

“Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won two battles against these monsters and the rest should be no different. No, we should keep at least _some _of Fereldan’s forces out of this – particularly if Howe think he can have free reign over every empty castle,” he added darkly.

“In fact, I think I shall write to my uncle about this. Duncan, would you be able to spare your recruit for a short while this evening? I should like to hear her accounting of what happened.”

Elissa quickly smoothed her face as Duncan looked her over.

“Of course, your Majesty. So long as it does not interfere with her duties to the Wardens.”

“Naturally. Now I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.”

\---

The Grey Wardens seemed limitless, bustling about the camp in deep blues and blinding slivers, but Duncan commented that they were still too few in number for his tastes. That the king had rallied his armies was good, but he would prefer to have the assistance of the Wardens in Orlais.

“It takes a Warden to end a Blight,” he said, when she asked why Fereldan’s armies would not suffice, “and with us outnumbered a hundred-to-one by soldiers, that lessens our odds of being there at the crucial moment.”

He would not elaborate on _why _a Warden was needed to end a Blight, and instead pressed upon her that should she come face-to-face with the Archdemon it would be her duty as a Warden to make the kill even if she had a hundred common soldiers at her back.

“So the king won’t get to slay the Archdemon?” she asked.

Duncan almost laughed.

“No, though I imagine he very much wants to. He believes our legend is enough to make himself invulnerable, but it is not so. No, if he wishes to have songs written about his endeavours here then they will be about cutting through the horde, not facing the Archdemon.”

“I imagine his personal guard wouldn’t let him, in any case,” she said, “as thus far no one has survived killing an Archdemon.”

“Nor will they ever,” he intoned gravely. “Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. Right now they have enough for minor skirmishes, but by the time they reach Ostagar they will outnumber us three-to-one at least. Likely more.”

“Even with Highever taking the battle to them?”

“Even with your brother’s efforts, yes. I know there is an Archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

“He seems to hold you in good counsel, and he clearly thinks highly of the order.”

“Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Out numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference.”

He paused and chose his next words carefully.

“The king wishes to speak with you this evening about Highever… perhaps in turn you could speak to him about the Orlesian Wardens? If the king is convinced to wait until they arrive, then your brother’s company would be asked to retreat back to the rest of the armies – you would see him before the battle, not after.”

A welcome thought. The manipulation was obvious but not offensive, helping Duncan would help herself. And if she _did _find Fergus, he could send her home. Duncan had received consent from a dead man, but if the current Teyrn – her only living relative – demanded her freed from the promise… yes. Yes, that could work.

She ran her fingers through her hair, catching on knots and tangles.

“Very well,” she said, “show me where I’ll be sleeping and tell me what you wish me to say.”


	5. Chapter 5

The king was charming, larger than life even without his armour, and currently alone with her in his tent. There were guards outside, of course, but the king’s manservant had been dismissed when she started tearing up while recounting how she had found Oren.

“I hope you’ll forgive the impropriety,” he said gently, “but in my experience ladies prefer not to weep with an audience, whenever possible.”

She took the proffered handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

“I can call for a maidservant, or Duncan, if you would be more comfortable with someone else here? My men will spread no rumours so you’ve no fear of tales being spread about illicit meetings in a war camp, but I understand if you wish to abide by the rules of propriety – as a Teyrna, if that is the case, many would overlook any salacious rumours but I know reputation is important to an unmarried woman of your standing.”

“You are most kind, your majesty, but no – as you say, I should like to keep my weeping to myself.”

He was handsome when he smiled, and he nodded his acquiescence. In truth she was in two hearts about it; on the one hand he was the king, and as such the only man outside of sworn Chantry Brothers or her own blood who was above the rules of propriety. On the other hand, he did not look at her as chaperone looked at their charge. It was unsettling – and thrilling. Once, when she was younger and he not yet married, she would have given anything to have him look at her that way. But he was married, and she was no longer permitted flights of girlish fantasy.

“Of course,” he said, and turned his face to the flames.

They were seated before his fire, a small brazier with carefully engraved jewels decorating the metal – even the most simple, practical things the king had in his tent showed signs of great expense. And yet, the man himself had a casualness to him that she would expect to find in a second son rather than a king. His clothes were of the finest quality, but they wrinkled as he slouched into his chair.

Fergus would have had his hide tanned if he creased velvets and silks with such lack of care, but perhaps the king’s wardrobe was so luxurious that such a thing mattered not at all. Certainly, he had no parents to berate him for his posture and no servant would dare complain.

His hair was thick and shiny, perfumed ever so slightly she suspected, yet it appeared to Elissa’s eye as though he had tied it back while half-distracted and not so much as glanced in a mirror – a far cry from the carefully coiffed look of his portraits. Underneath all the finery and trappings of station, King Cailan seemed little different from any other nobleman of Elissa’s acquaintance. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“We can take a reprieve,” the king offered, “if you desire one?”

She folded the handkerchief carefully and then paused, unsure what to do with it. She could hardly give the king a soiled cloth, but in order to clean it herself and return it later she would have to take it with her. Could she take one of the king’s belongings? No doubt he had hundreds and wouldn’t miss it, but would it be too presumptuous to tuck it into her pocket?

“Forgive me,” he said.

Her head snapped up, startled out of her thinking.

“I should have offered you a drink,” he continued. “I invite you into my tent, make you cry, and don’t even have the decency to offer you something for your nerves. Here, just let me…”

The king trailed off as he stood and disappeared behind the curtain that presumably separated his private quarters from the main area. She heard him open a cabinet, and the clink of glass. They’d already shared wine when she first arrived – the servant had a heavy pour, she had noted – so she wondered what else he was bringing out and how strong it would be. She had no intention of getting drunk here, but she could hardly refuse the king if he insisted she drink. Perhaps if it was too strong she could feign weariness and take her leave.

She stowed the handkerchief away in a pocket while he was gone. If the king was being so familiar with her as to fetch the drinks himself, then surely he would forgive her taking it without first asking one of his servants. She wondered what they thought of this, what than man – Alric? – thought of being dismissed and leaving his king alone with a woman. She wondered if it had happened before.

“Whiskey,” King Cailan said, re-entering the room.

He had a bottle in one hand and two cups in the other which he sat on his desk and poured what was thankfully only a small amount into each. He handed her the smaller of the two with an easy smile.

“They swear by it in Starkhaven, and this particular bottle I received as a gift from the royal family last year. Small sips, it has a strong flavour.”

She closed her eyes an inhaled the scent.

“I had this on my fourteenth nameday,” she murmured, recalling the incident.

“Stole a bottle of it, or did your father let you have some for the special occasion?”

The king’s tone was light, jovial, almost teasing. Over familiar. Elissa blushed deeply and took a small sip to postpone answering, coughing as it burned down her throat.

“Stole the bottle, then,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, my lady.”

They sat quietly for a time and true to his word Elissa felt her nerves settle a little as the alcohol took effect. She didn’t want to continue, didn’t want to relive the moment she found her father and was conscripted, but she had to finish so that the king could pen his letters to all the lords who were not yet here. The sooner she finished her story, the sooner word could be sent out about Howe’s betrayal. But she wanted to stay in this moment for a little longer; just sitting by a fire with a man who smiled at her kindly.

She still had to speak with him about the Orlesian Grey Wardens too, though she wasn’t yet how to broach the subject. What could she possibly say to change the king’s mind that the Warden Commander could not? Perhaps if she spoke more about Howe he might be moved to search out the traitor immediately rather than wait until after the battle – after all, who knew if Howe was intending to go after more noble families while their soldiers were at Ostagar? Postponing the battle would allow them to root out Howe and bring him to justice before he could hurt anyone else _and _give them greater odds against the darkspawn by allowing time for the Orlesians to join their forces.

Elissa tried to think of how to verbalise this idea when she was struck by something the king had mentioned earlier.

“You brought maidservants to a war camp?”

She spoke as soon as the thought entered her mind, the drink making her forgo her usual careful consideration. While there was nothing technically _wrong _with doing so, and they would hardly be the only women in camp, for a man to take his unmarried female servants with him while travelling was… frowned upon.

“Hm?”

He started, as though surprised by the question. Hopefully he did not take offense, as she wasn’t sure how to rephrase it to be less presumptuous.

“No,” he said with a reassuring smile, “they have remained with Anora at the palace, or I believe some have taken the opportunity of a reduced household to go visit with their families. No, rest assured I would never put a young lady in such a compromising position – I thought perhaps Bann Alfstanna might be willing to part with one of her ladies, though. Given the circumstances I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you borrowing one.”

Elissa had met Alfstanna Eremon many times as the Waking Sea was so close to the teynir of Highever. Alfstanna was a serious woman who never let pride get in the way of looking after her people; more than once in the past year had Alfstanna sent to Highever for assistance with issues that another Bann might try to solve themselves. Father had spoken highly of Alfstanna and praised her selfless qualities. It was not shame, he had told Elissa, to ask for help when it is needed. Perhaps she would seek out the Bann while she was at Ostagar and speak to her about what could be done to rebuild Highever once she and Fergus reclaimed it.

“Thank you for your consideration,” she said, “you are most kind.”

“I can send a messenger to her, if you would like?”

It was so very, very tempting. She could speak to Alfstanna and see about rooming in her tent until Fergus returned, but she wouldn’t put it past Duncan to drag her out and force her into his own tent to ensure she didn’t slip away in the night.

“Thank you, your majesty, but that won’t be necessary. I am with the Grey Wardens now, and I am sure that Warden Commander Duncan will look after me – he is a friend of yours, is he not?”

A word in Duncan’s ear might see Elissa released from her conscription if the king thought her better suited to the courtly life than that of a warrior. Perhaps if she presented herself in the right manner he might speak up on her behalf. Hah. A king speaking up for her. Too much whiskey, she thought, if she were entertaining such notions.

“He is, and a good friend to have – I must confess,” he said, leaning closer, “I am envious that you are joining him in the Wardens. I’ve always admired them.”

“They are certainly admirable,” she said as neutrally as she could, “to give up their lives to fight the Blight. It is… not an easy decision.”

“And yet, you have made it yourself.”

Elissa took a slow sip of her drink to give herself more time. How could she respond without insulting the king, who thought so highly of the institution she wanted to escape?

“In truth, your Majesty…” she hesitated, unsure if she should continue.

King Cailan leant closer still, turning his body from the fire to her. She hadn’t realised how close their chairs were before, but it wouldn’t take much for her to reach out and touch him. Or for him to touch her.

“Yes?”

“I owe Warden Commander Duncan my life, and am promised to join the Grey Wardens, but with my mother and father gone and my brother unaccounted for… is it not my duty to return to my people?”

The king leant back again and turned away from her, staring into the flames.

“Indeed,” he said after some time, “it is often such. Duty to our families, to our lands, pulls us away from that which we might otherwise choose. For those of us born to noble families, I often think that our fates are written out for us in the Maker’s plan. When I was a boy, I often looked at… at the servants’ children and wondered what it would be like to grow up with no destiny and a world full of opportunity. In another life I think I would have very much liked to have been a Grey Warden. I’ve found myself thinking about that a lot, recently.”

“But you had a responsibility to Fereldan to take your father’s throne.”

“I did. And so, a Grey Warden I shall never be. That is a role for other sons.”

He finished his cup and stood quickly.

“Forgive me, my Lady, but it has been a long day for both of us – I shan’t keep you any longer.”

Elissa nodded, cursing herself. She should not have said what she did. Selfish, selfish and stupid to try and convince the king to favour her – instead she’d made him maudlin and insulted him. She could only hope that her actions tonight would not impact his decision to send word out about Howe.

He held his hand out for her cup, chivalrous despite her unworthy behaviour, and placed it on his desk.

“Thank you for entertaining me, your Majesty,” she said with as much contrition as she could summon.

It must have worked because he smiled again, though somewhat sadder than he had before, and shook his head.

“Not at all, my Lady. I apologise for having you relive what was certainly a very trying experience, I would not have asked had I not needed to know the details of Arl Howe’s treachery. Rest assured that with the information you have given me tonight I will write to my uncle and have him send his men to investigate Howe’s movements while the rest of the country is at war. I will have him brought to justice, of that I promise you.”

She curtsied, such as she was able to in leathers rather than skirts, and thanked him again.

“Perhaps I could ask you to return tomorrow?” the king said as she turned to leave.

“As you say, with your brother absent you are the Teyrna of Highever – I should like to know you better, as I know the other heads of noble families. May I send someone to fetch you tomorrow?”

She almost laughed.

“Of course, your Majesty. I should very much like to speak with you again, perhaps on happier topics?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling properly now, “on happier topics.”


	6. Chapter 6

Elissa slept alone in her tent; a luxury given to her only due to her steadfast insistence that she would seek accommodation with Bann Alfstanna if Duncan even thought about having her bed with one of the male Wardens.

“It is not that we do not allow women to join,” Duncan assured her, though she didn’t really care, “only that since the Wardens were permitted to return to Fereldan we have seen very few who sought to join our number.”

Though they had initially seemed to be everywhere, Elissa soon realised that there was perhaps only three dozen Grey Wardens at the most. Castle Cousland had more servants than the Fereldan Grey Wardens had soldiers; no wonder Duncan was so adamant about recruiting even one extra blade.

Still, no reason that had to be hers.

She had the day to herself, Duncan informed her during the morning meal, as the ritual ‘Joining’ could not begin until the other recruiter had returned. Why the Joining had to be done in groups, he did not share. Perhaps it was trial by combat and she would have to prove herself the more worthy candidate by winning a dual? If so, Duncan must be addled if he thought she wouldn’t throw the match.

Until the recruiter returned and the Joining could take place, Elissa was to familiarise herself with the terrain with an eye for where she would best be suited in the coming battle. She was frankly alarmed that so simple a thing as where the ranged fighters would be stationed had not yet been discovered and said as much to Duncan.

“The king’s men will have their own stations, but as for the Grey Wardens – I am no archer,” he said with a shrug, “and from what little I have seen of your abilities I would already place you as better than our few. You find the best perches and report back to me before nightfall.”

“I won’t be in the thick of the battle?”

Not that she planned to be anywhere near it, but she wondered what Duncan’s intentions for her were.

“I’ve seen you struggle with your father’s sword,” he pointed out, not unkindly, “are you any better with one more suited to your stature?”

“No,” she admitted, “I know enough to avoid injuring myself, but I’ve never had cause to learn more than the basics of defending myself with a blade. I’ve never entered in a melee.”

“And so I would be foolish to ask you to do so now, particularly when facing the Blight. When it comes to fighting darkspawn, a single Grey Warden is worth a dozen common soldiers; I would be doing you, and the Wardens, a disservice if I placed you with the swordsmen.”

Duncan nodded at an approaching Warden with reddish-blond hair and an armful of bowls and added theirs to his load.

“You are an excellent shot,” Duncan continued, pulling on his gloves “and would be worth far more providing cover from above than as another body in the middle. But now it is time for me to get to work, and for you to familiarise yourself with this place. Go, I will see you later.”

\---

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a man imprisoned – running a teyrnir, her father had instructed, was about more than providing food and protection to the people – but there was something disturbing about seeing a hanging cage in the middle of a war camp.

What could he have done to require imprisonment? If he was a soldier who committed a crime warranting public censure then surely his superior officer would have had him discipline accordingly, whether by whipping or execution if necessary. If he were a civilian who sneaked into the camp for some purpose, then there must be somewhere more dignified to keep him until the battle was done and he could be escorted to face the justice of his town. Or even taken before King Cailan, who could dispense justice upon all within his domain.

The guard standing by was in Warden armour. Why would they imprison one of their own? The Wardens took all kinds of criminals, surely they had better ways of dealing with criminal activity than stripping a man and leaving him to freeze in a cage while his companions prepared for war. Maker, what kind of institution was she joining?

The prisoner caught her eye and unbidden she approached.

“Heh,” the man scoffed, “someone finally comes and talks to the lone prisoner? I don’t suppose you’ve come to sentence me.”

“That depends,” she answered, “who are you?”

“A nobody, so it seems. They put people like me in a cage until someone important has time to decide what to do with me. That you?”

“Where are you from? What army do you fight with?”

“I’m a nobody from High Hill, not part of any official army; me and half the men in town joined in when half the soldiers in Fereldan started marching through – figured we ought to do our part.”

High Hill, a small farming village just north of Lothering notable for the watchtower on the hill at the centre of the village. Supposedly you could see all the way to Denerim on a clear day.

“Arl Bryland is your liege lord,” she noted, “is he not here? I’ve seen soldiers with the South Reach heraldry on their shields, someone must have led them here.”

He scoffed again, “how should I know if the Arl is here? Do I look like I sit in on the lords’ meetings? Look, it doesn’t matter. All I want is food and water. They haven’t fed me since I was locked up, and I’m starving.”

She frowned. He must have done something serious to earn starvation as well as stripping.

“What did you do?”

“I’m a deserter. Or so they think. I bet there’s no arguing them out of it, though – armies are funny that way.”

A serious crime for an army, but surely not deserving of starvation? If they intended to compel him to fight, then he would be next to useless by the time the darkspawn arrived; if they intended to execute him then why not do so immediately? She would search out Arl Bryland, or whoever he had lead his troops, but in the present…

She slipped her waterskin through the bars and he emptied it in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, Maker bless you, kind lady. Do you have any food? I’ll take anything, please I’m starved.”

“I’ll find you something to eat, and then see who I can find to pass judgement on you.”

“My guard has food, I saw him tuck it into his coat.”

He held the waterskin back out to her.

“Can you refill this? I don’t know how much longer they’ll leave me here even if you do somehow manage to find the Arl. I doubt he has time to spare for a soldier who isn’t even officially his.”

She took the skin and bid him farewell. She wouldn’t take food off his guard, rations were tight enough without taking half the man’s food, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find a handful of apples or some salted meat.

\---

Duncan was leant over a desk someone had set by his fire when she found him later that afternoon. He had three Wardens with him – Wardens Elyan, Corentin, and Alain, as they were introduced to her – and was conversing with them in rapid Orlesian.

Her own command of the language was adequate at best, much to the eternal displeasure of her tutors, and she struggled to keep up with their pace. It seemed that they were discussing their efforts to have the Orlesian Grey Wardens join them, but she could not be certain from the conversation whether the issue was with Orlais or Fereldan in bringing them over the border.

Probably Fereldan, since she had been tasked with convincing the king to let them through. Duncan dismissed the men with a few short words after he noticed her loitering and gestured for her to approach. The Warden Commander pulled out a well-worn map of Ostagar and smoothed it out over the desk.

“So?” he asked, “what were your findings?”

Elissa had actually enjoyed searching out perches for the Warden archers. As they were few in number they could be placed on some of the smaller battlements and ruins that littered Ostagar, rather than needing somewhere that could fit the hundreds that were part of the assembled King’s army. As a girl she’d loved the excuse a bow gave her to be climbing trees and walls and she’d never quite outgrown the habit of appraising buildings by how likely she would be able to scale them. It wasn’t a skill she had used much in the past five or so years, far too rough for a Teyrn’s daughter, so it had been a welcome distraction from worrying about Fergus.

Duncan seemed pleased by work and marked the map accordingly, but then sighed and shook his head once she asked if she was excused.

“You still do not wish to join us, do you?”

Once again, Elissa had to stifle a laugh. Of course she didn’t. Had he really thought that spending the day walking around Ostagar would have changed her mind?

“I need to find my brother,” she said simply. “If he is alive and he consents then… maybe. I don’t want to, but I do owe you my life.”

Fergus would never allow it, so passing the issue onto him would put her in no danger at all.

“And if your brother is dead?”

She sniffed dismissively.

“Then I am a Teyrna, and I have more important duties to attend to.”

“More important than stopping a Blight?”

“What’s the point in stopping a Blight if there’s nothing left at the end of it?”

Duncan opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off before he could do so.

“Society still needs to go on, someone needs see that Highever is rebuilt and that Amaranthine has someone capable of leading it after Howe’s put to justice – who knows how far his corruption spread? His wife, children, steward, officers… they might all have to be removed from the castle and placed under a watchful eye, if not hanged themselves.”

Duncan sighed and shook his head.

“I suspect I will get nowhere trying to change your opinion on this,” he observed, “so I won’t even try. I heard that you have been seeking audiences with the nobility currently residing here, were you speaking to them of Howe?”

Yes, she’d rather thought she had seen the red-haired Warden from this morning trailing around behind her. Hopefully he was better with his sword than he was at stealth, because she’d spotted him easily in his blue and silver armour.

“And of the benefits of waiting for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais – if the entire court is in favour of it, then perhaps the king will rethink his decision.”

“A wise thought,” he said, “what was the outcome?”

Nothing good, unfortunately.

“I am well-acquainted with Arl Bryland and thought to speak to him on the matter, but he has not come personally to Ostagar. I left word with his seneschal. Arls Lendon, Neruda, and Wulff similarly sent representatives to lead their armies. Arl Kendall has been delayed on the road according to his men, and Arl Neruda is maintaining the line at Stenhold rather than coming to Ostagar. I can speak to the Banns tomorrow, but their word would mean little without the Arls. If we truly want to change the king’s mind, then we need Teyrn Loghain’s support.”

“Which we will not receive,” Duncan sighed, “because he fears Orlais more than a Blight.”

Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. First generation nobility and father of the Queen. Elissa’s father had disliked him on principle, though her mother had always defended the man. _Nobility is a lifestyle_, she used to say, _not a birthright_. Which was amusing to hear coming from a woman who was raised on a warship and been a prolific raider during the rebellion, but perhaps that had been her point – if the infamous Seawolf could become a respected and gentile Teyrna, then perhaps a farmer’s son could become a man worthy of a Teyrnir too. 

Elissa had met Teyrn Loghain during her presentation to court and thought him spectacularly dour for a man whose daughter was queen – if Elissa had been queen, she was certain her own father would have never stopped smiling. Still, that had been at court. This was a battlefield. Perhaps Teyrn Loghain would be more civil surrounded by soldiers rather than courtiers.

\---

“I noticed a mabari when you and Duncan arrived, would I be correct in assuming he is yours?”

Elissa had been halfway to Teyrn Loghain’s tent when one of the king’s attendants had approached her with a message: the king wished to speak with her, at her earliest convenience. Perhaps after a bath, the attendant had suggested pointedly. She would have been offended if she hadn’t already smelt herself. The Grey Warden’s bathing area was sparse and had only the barest attempt at privacy so she’d had to smile and curtsey her way into the Chantry representatives’ tent, getting them to take pity on the poor scandalised Lady whose chaperone had been called away.

One of the Lay Sisters had been kind enough to find a scented oil for her skin once Elissa told her about the royal summons – vanity would not do, the woman told her as she grimaced at the cheap soap they provided her with, but one should always try not to offend a king.

Though the scent was not one she would have chosen for herself under normal circumstances – too heavily spiced, too thick and cloying and not at all like the gentle florals she preferred – Elissa was glad for the opportunity to meet the king smelling of anything other than the sweat and mud she had no doubt been covered in last time she was here. Just because it was a war camp didn’t mean she couldn’t at least _try _to present herself properly.

The servants stayed in the tent this time. A man she recognised from the king’s retinue, and a serving girl with livery marking her as one of Bann Alfstanna’s women. The girl was clearly overwhelmed at being pressed into the king’s service and hadn’t lifted her eyes off the floor once, but the king’s man moved around the space with familiar ease and poured their drinks – wine, not whiskey – before returning to his corner.

King Cailan had asked her to sit by the fire again, and after assuring her that he was still determined to bring Howe to justice once the war was won, they had turned to lighter topics.

“He is, your majesty,” Elissa said with a fond smile, “my brother had a litter brought to Highever in the hopes of having one imprint upon his son… he’s never let me forget that I stole a nameday present from a baby.”

The king laughed and nodded his head.

“My father tried the same thing for my tenth nameday – one of them strode right up to the serving girl pouring my wine while the rest just nibbled on the furniture. Consider me duly envious of you. Might I enquire as to his name?”

Elissa blushed and looked at her feet.

“Ah,” he chuckled, “something embarrassing, is it? How old were you when you got him?

“Thirteen, and a very foolish thirteen at that,” she demurred, “your majesty would not like to hear it.”

His grin turned mischievous, eyes sparkling, and he leant back in his chair to view her under his shockingly long lashes.

“His majesty would love to hear it,” he veritably purred, causing her to blush an even brighter shade of scarlet.

The serving girl made a strangled sort of noise and Elissa looked up to see the king’s man lead her by the elbow out of the tent. For a moment she thought they both would leave, but the man re-entered and then slipped quietly past the curtain that hid the king’s private quarters from view. Out of sight, but not out of hearing range.

“It would be inappropriate to say in the king’s company,” she tried.

“The king has spent the past three weeks in the company of soldiers, he has heard many inappropriate things – one more won’t matter.”

“It would shame me to have you think ill of me.”

The king leant across the distance separating their chairs and placed two fingers under her chin, turning her head until she had no choice but to look him directly in the eye. The skin on his fingers was buttery soft, and she could smell leather and weapon oil on his hands. His hand moved to cup her chin and his thumb brushed gently over her cheek.

“I could never think ill of anything coming from the mind of such a beautiful woman, and I would cut down any man who dreamed of shaming you.”

Unbidden, Elissa felt her eyelids flutter and realised she hadn’t breathed in several long moments. She inhaled shakily and noticed how the king’s eyes focused on her lips as she wet them to speak.

“Elethea. I named him ‘Elethea’.”

He blinked in apparent confusion before suddenly releasing her face and tilting his head back in laughter. She lowered her eyes again and took a judicious sip of wine from her abandoned glass. He continued chuckling as he raised his own to his lips.

“And here I thought I was about to hear about a naïve young lady naming her hound after some form of… sex-act, and her father being unable to talk her out of the name without having to explain it to her.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, your majesty; I was a scholarly child, not a scandalous one.”

“’Elethea’… traditionally a woman’s name, yes?”

She nodded, quirking a smile. At thirteen she had been… wilful and cared little for tradition. She saw the exact moment he realised the historical inspiration behind the name and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Elethea Cousland… the Teyrna of Highever in Calenhad’s time.”

“She was a great ruler,” Elissa said neutrally.

It was true. Elethea Cousland was known across Fereldan for her military endeavours, but in Highever she was beloved for the orphanage she built for children whose parents died in the war. The children were given education and training normally received only by the children of minor lordlings and had their health attended to by Elethea’s own healers and physicians. To Thedas she was a cautionary tale about fighting change, but to Elissa she was an inimitable woman who never let pride keep her from admitting her mistakes and dedicated her life to improving the standing of all those she hurt through action or inaction.

“A great ruler who raised half the Bannorn against Calenhad,” the king observed. “Quite a statement, that name. I see why you hesitated to tell me, my dear Lady Cousland.”

He sipped at his wine and looked her up and down with a look of great concentration. Elissa fought to supress the shiver that look provoked in her.

“You admire her then,” he asked, “your ancestor who raised armies against mine?”

“If I recall,” she murmured, “my ancestor surrendered and fell to her knees before yours.”

“Yes,” he said, an intimate smile slowly breaking out across his face. “Yes, I do believe she did.”


End file.
